Arthur's Smile
by Katt42
Summary: Why was it that France kept torturing himself watching Arthur with Alfred? For his smile, of course. FrUK toward the end with mentioned USUK.


**Arthur's Smile**

Francis watched Arthur from the opposite side of the bar. Arthur was smiling, something he rarely did, and never did in the presence of Francis. It was a bitter-sweet prize, to see the beautiful smile of Arthur

Why bitter-sweet? It's easy to explain, really.

Sweet: Francis's heart beat wildly when he saw Arthur smile. To Francis, there was nothing more beautiful that that sweet smile The way he never smiled very big, but instead had a suppressed smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners, he lips pressed tight together, trying to hide it. The way his cheeks would turn red, ever so slightly. It really was amazing to see Arthur in that state.

Bitter: Francis wasn't capable of bringing that smile to Arthur face. Or, really, anything other than frown and scowls. Nothing more. Not since they were just little countries. And yet, Alfred could. Fucking America. Even though Alfred had broken Arthur's heart. Even though Alfred continued to break Arthur's heart. All the time. Because Alfred didn't love Arthur. Not the way Arthur loved Alfred. Not the way Francis loved Arthur.

So Francis sat in the back of the bar, sipping his drink, and letting the feelings of regret (regret for never telling Arthur, regret for always hurting Arthur, when he should have been helping, regret for loving Arthur), feelings of hurt (hurt that Arthur had never noticed, or maybe chose to ignore, the advances that Francis had made, all those years ago), feelings of agony (the agony of seeing Arthur want Alfred so much, and yet never bothering to give him, Francis, a second thought, even if Alfred would never care the way Francis did).

So, Francis let himself wallow in self-pity and self-hatred, until Antonio and Gilbert, the personifications of Spain and Prussia, respectively, walked up and slid into his booth.

"Looks like he's at it again," Antonio muttered to Gilbert.

"Mein Gott, Francis, why the hell do you do this to yourself?" Gilbert asked the worry showing in his eyes. Gilbert rarely showed any real feelings toward other nations, but Francis-and Antonio when necessary- was exceptions.

Francis just shook his head, sipping a little more of his drink from his glass.

"How much have you had, amigo?" Antonio asked worry filling his eyes as well.

Francis just shrugged. He had lost count, watching Arthur, the way he interacted with Alfred, the way Alfred missed his advances, instead choosing to talk about video games and hamburgers. But if you were really looking, as Francis was, you would see the way Alfred looked uncomfortable at Arthur's advances, and was constantly changing the topic. And the more his advances were blown off, the more Arthur would drink. And the longer Francis watched this exchange, the more he would drink.

It was a destructive path for all involved.

Antonio sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "I know how much it hurts, mi amigo, but you can't keep doing this to yourself. It's not healthy, and it's not just hurting you. It's hurting me and Gilbert. We love you. And we get it. Both of us, we really do."

"Ja. We understand that it hurts-" Gilbert was cut off as he was agreeing Antonio.

"Understand? Know what I'm going through? You two have no idea;" Francis's eyes had become dark, "You two don't understand _anything. _Antonio, it may have been hard with Romano, believe me I know, I was there. But at least he loved you. At least everyone knew that you loved him. And Gilbert, it wasn't even hard for you and Mathew, once he got over his insecurities. But me? I'm hopeless. Fucking hopeless. Because instead of being nice to Arthur, I pushed him away. But now, I'm too late. I can't take back all the awful things I did. And Arthur, he's in love with someone else." Francis stopped, taking a shaky breath.

Antonio and Gilbert glanced at each other, then away, quickly. But neither said anything. They knew that Francis wasn't done yet.

"Can you two imagine Romano or Mathew falling in love with someone else? Antonio, can you imagine Lovino suddenly falling in love with, say, Roderick? Packing his things and leaving you for someone else forever?"

Antonio felt his blood run cold, a shiver going up his spine at just the thought of Romano being with anyone but him.

"And Gilbert. What if, one morning, Mathew woke up and said, 'I think I'm in love with Ivan'. And then he left. Without a word."

Gilbert's heart sunk at this thought. His hands curled into fists. The thought of life without his Birdie was unbearable.

"See? Now do you get it? I love him, always have, and always will. And he loves Alfred. He always has, and always will. And because of that, I will never be happy. So I think I'm entitled to a little alcohol."

And with that, Francis turned back to Arthur. Now he was really drunk, and it looked like Alfred was coming up with reason to leave. But he would be wasted too, because he would have drank, to make Arthur not look so bad. Arthur would ask for a ride, and then he and Alfred would have a drunken one night stand at Arthur's place. And in the morning, Arthur would wake alone, Alfred having left earlier. Arthur would have a hang over, and be pissy at the world meeting the next day (because this cycle only took place during world meetings, no matter where they were).

And Francis? He would go back to where he was staying, heartbroken. He would craw into bed, upset and drunk. He would sleep in his day clothes. He would wake in the morning, hung over. And he would feel pissy, like always. Then, at the meeting, he would be a dick to Arthur, and drive them further apart.

Francis readied himself to leave after Arthur, sad and drunk, like normal. But instead of leaving with Alfred, Arthur waved him off. By this time Antonio and Gilbert had left, going to check on their lovers. Francis watched Arthur, sitting alone at the bar, and he wondered if he should leave. He did have a world meeting the next day.

But he couldn't make himself look away from Arthur and leave. Upon closer inspection, Francis had noticed that Arthur wasn't as drunk as usual for this time of night. He looked fairly sober. And he was leaned over the counter, talking with the bar tender, who looked a little surprised that Arthur could hold a coherent conversation with anyone at this point. The bar tender was used to drunk Arthur.

Francis leaned forward on the table in front of him, setting his glass down. He couldn't hear what Arthur was saying, but he could see a distinct blush and small smile on Arthur's face.

_'Must be talking about Alfred,'_ Francis thought bitterly.

Francis decided that he should probably leave now. It was getting rather late, and he didn't want to be too tired the next morning.

Francis began to stand, but before he had moved out of his seat completely, Arthur turned and his eyes landed on Francis. Francis was still for a moment, unsure of what to do, before sliding easily back into the seat and grabbing his glass, raising it in the direction of Arthur. He smiled best he could.

Arthur looked at him for another moment before turning back to the bar-tender. Francis continued to sit, still unsure what he was going to do, when Arthur slid off the bar-stool and started walking in the direction of Francis. Francis gulped.

Arthur reached his table and said, "I'm gonna sit here, if you like it or not." And then he sat down, across from Francis.

Francis couldn't help but smile a little at that.

Francis looked at Arthur, taking this moment to really look at him. Arthur had bags under his eyes, and his face was slightly pale. He seemed nervous-though Francis had no idea why. He kept picking at his clothes and looking away from Francis. Arthur was biting his bottom lip, and Francis knew that this was a tell of Arthurs. He bit his bottom lip when unsure of himself.

"Is there any reason you decided to sit over here?" Francis asked, silently prodding Arthur to say what was on his mind.

"Why are you here?" Arthur asked, finally.

"For the world meeting, of course," Francis said innocently. He couldn't help but rile the Brit up, just a little.

But instead of yelling or cussing at Francis, Arthur sighed and said, "You know what I meant. Why are you here, in this pub? Why are you always in these bars during the meetings?"

"For a relaxing drink after an awful meeting that never solves anything. Same as everyone else," Francis said, lying easily.

"Why always the same pub as me?" Arthur asked, "There are plenty of pubs, in whatever country we're in. And yet you always go to the same one as me. Why?"

Francis thought for a moment, trying to think of a lie. Before he said anything Arthur said, "Don't lie to me, Francis. You know I can always tell."

_'Not always,' _Francis thought bitterly.

"I...because I can be. Why does it even matter?" Francis asked defensively. He was becoming uncomfortable with all of Arthur's questions.

"Because every time I go out to a bar to try and forget you, you're always fucking there! In the corner, sometimes flirting, sometimes not, but always there! Do you want to hurt me?! Is that what it is? Because it's working!"

Arthur was huffing, cheeks red, eyes angry, but slowly filling with tears that he quickly wiped away.

"Do you like to see me in pain? Is that why you're trying to take away the one thing that can make me forget?! The one thing that can make me think that maybe, just maybe, you don't hate me as much as you act like you do?!"

"Hate you?" Francis whispered.

"Yes, hate me! Do you think I'm a bloody moron! I can see how much you hate me! I can tell! As if it's not obvious when you fight with me even though I'm hung over as hell during world meetings. Or maybe the way you make fun of me by talking about me and Alfred when we...do things! I know you hate me, and I get it. Everyone does. But for the love of all that is holy, can you not leave me this one thing? Can you live with not making it hard as fuck for me to sit in a bar and drink until I'm so drunk I can pretend that my feelings for you are returned?"

Francis shook his head, confused.

"Feelings...for me? What?"

"Don't play fucking stupid with me. Yes feelings. You know, I know, everyone knows. You made me love you, and now you torture me with it ever chance you get. But, please, Francis. Please, just, let me have what little peace I can get when drinking." Tears were now rolling down Arthur's cheeks as he looked away from Francis.

Francis slid out of the booth and slowly walked to the other side, sliding in next to Arthur and trapping him where he was. Arthur was turned away from him, curled in the corner. Francis was sure that Arthur thought he had left.

Francis reached over to Arthur and gently wiped a few tears from his cheek. Arthur looked over at him, still crying, but he began to glare at Francis.

"Why are you still here? Do you want to watch me cry? Do you want to gloat?"

Francis didn't say anything, but instead took Arthur's face in his hands and leaned forward, pressing his lips to Arthur's gently. Arthur kissed back at first. Then he pulled away roughly and slapped Francis across the face.

"What the bloody hell?!" Now the glare was gone and the tears were running down his face in a steady stream.

"Arthur, please listen to me. If you listen to me and still want me to leave, I will. And I will never come back. But, please, just hear me out."

Reluctantly Arthur nodded, wiping his cheeks.

"I don't hate you, first of all. I love you. More than anything, even myself. And I don't follow you to bars to torture you. I come...I guess it's because I want to torture myself. I come to watch you and Alfred, and I come to see you smile, because you only do around him. And when you leave with him, I feel like I'm dying. But I always come back again. For your smile. And then I go to my hotel and wake up hung over and I fight with you because I was so sure you hated me. And, I guess it was a way to punish myself, for making you hate me. Please Arthur, don't think I hate you. I swear I don't. I never have, and I never will."

Arthur stared at Francis then said, "Liar."

"Arthur, I swear, there hasn't been a day I have stopped wanting you. I've loved you since the first day I met you, when I was too young to understand what I felt had even meant. There hasn't been a single moment that I've ever really wanted to hurt you. Not one. When I fall asleep at night, you're the last thing I think of, and in the morning when I wake up, you're the first. I have felt a lot of things for you, but hate isn't even close to one of them."

Arthur stared at Francis, and Francis sighed. "I guess I'll be going now."

Francis slid out of the booth, standing up and starting to walk away. He didn't get very far before he heard fast foot-steps following him. He stopped and turned just in time to catch the half-drunk Brit who had been running after him in his arms. He smiled down at Arthur, a little surprised.

"Arthur?"

"You bloody arse-hole French Frog! What the hell do you think you're doing? You confess you love me and then walk away? What the hell is that supposed to tell me?"

Francis blushed. "I-I thought since you didn't say anything, that you wanted me to leave."

Arthur glared up at him, but it wasn't mean, like usual. It was softer. "No stupid, I was waiting for a bloody kiss!" A blush lit up his face as he realized what he had said out loud.

"Oh, is that so, lapin."

And then Francis leaned down and pressed his lips firmly to Arthur's holding him against his chest and letting his eyes flutter closed. Arthur kissed back, wrapping his arms around Francis's neck.

When they parted Arthur muttered, "By the way, I'm not a bloody bunny."

Francis chuckled, "You speak French?"

Arthur's blush darkened and he hid his face in Francis's chest, embarrassed. Francis ran a hand through his hair and said, "It's late, we should go."

Arthur reluctantly pulled away from Francis and said, "Then I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

Francis grabbed ahold of Arthur's hand and said, "You don't really think I'm letting you go, after waiting so long."

And before Arthur could get a word out, Francis started pulling Arthur toward his hotel. Arthur blushed but didn't complain.

**The Next Day**

Arthur and Francs walked into the building together, early. Francis easily slid his hand into Arthur's, intertwining their fingers together. Arthur blushed, but didn't pull his hand away.

Antonio and Gilbert turned when they heard foot-steps and looks of shock crossed their faces. Francis grinned and shrugged. Antonio shook his head, laughing and Gilbert gave Francis thumbs up.

Arthur shot him a glare and pulled Francis into the elevator. When they entered the meeting room the other nations that were milling around turned and stared, but none sad anything, because they all liked the thought of peace.

Francis and Arthur sat together, still holding hands under the table. Francis squeezed Arthur's hand when Alfred walked in and Arthur squeezed back. Alfred saw the two sitting together and breathed a sigh of relief.

"It's about damn time!" He called.

Francis turned to Arthur. "What is he talking about?"

"Well…you always assumed that Alfred and I…took part in…sexual activities…but he really just took me to my hotel and listened to me complain about you…" Arthur turned away.

Francis chuckled and pulled Arthur and his hands from under the table, kissing Arthur's. Arthur blushed and a small smile crept across his face.

Francs smiled back.

Arthur's smiles were extremely beautiful. They almost made Francis's heart stop when he saw them. But they were even better when he was the one who caused them.

_Fin~ _


End file.
